


Regal - Geralt x OFC

by ellexoxo



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff, Love/Hate, One Shot Collection, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27738055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellexoxo/pseuds/ellexoxo
Summary: A young princess is devoid of any and all affinities towards romance. A perfect match for a Witcher.
Relationships: Geralt x OC, Geralt x reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A short one shot series!

“Oh shit…” Jaskier mumbled as he took a seat next to Geralt. His fingers clasped the mug of beer tightly and took a long sip, eyes darting between Geralt, Yennefer, and the girl who sat only a few tables away, her laugh singing through the whole tavern. Only her side profile was visible with her long brown hair swaying in front of the hearth, and she was sitting next to another woman who Jaskier was unfamiliar with— extremely pale with white, almost snow like hair in a plait cascading down her back. Both were sporting expensive wool cloaks over intricately laced bodices and skirts. Two knights stood only a few strides away, faces blank and looking only straight ahead while the girls threw their heads back in laughter. Two women of royal standing looking extremely out of place in such a rickety old tavern. 

They were wheezing almost, obviously poking jokes and reminiscing about old times. Their table was covered in freshly baked breads, aged cheeses, slices of tender lamb and plump berries. Not to mention a bottle of red wine they had almost finished. Both were hysterically drunk at this point since their petite figures suggested they couldn’t hold alcohol quite well. 

“Oh, Pavetta,” the brunette sighed. “I can’t believe you’re finally betrothed. It’s like only yesterday we were young girls playing in the grass,” she placed the rim of her wine glass to her lip. 

“I know, Genevieve,” the blonde girl, Pavetta, gushed. “I’m so glad we could get away from that stuffy ballroom!” She rolled her eyes, happy to escape the palace of Cintra in this tavern for the rest of the evening. Her mother, Queen Calanthe, had thrown her an extravagant ball to commemorate her betrothal to a far away prince whom Pavetta had fancied for years now. It was joyous and appreciated, but Pavetta wanted to have one last night out as a single woman with her childhood friend, Princess Genevieve of Brugge. Cintra and Brugge often traded together and were close alliances during times of military distress. Both princesses grew up together and their parents would often arrange for the young girls to complete tutoring sessions and recreational time as a duo. Pavetta was always the shyer one, a looming fear of disappointing her mother always seemed to follow her. She avoided confrontation at all costs, even if it met earning poor marks from her tutor for not speaking up during class and would often get teased by the other kids her age for her pale complexion. On the other hand, Genevieve always defendedher dear friend from the constant bullying. 

Perhaps it was her Aquarius tendencies. Nevertheless, Genevieve struck most people around her as bold, opinionated, and at times, extremely blunt. Though it never hindered from her royal duties. Princess Genevieve was a class act, and everyone knew it. She always held her head high, shoulders rolled back, and walked with a sultry confidence only found in the most honorable of queens. Many suitors sent her luxurious gifts and treats from rare black pearls to small vacation islands off the coast of her kingdom. It was nice being showered in affection from men, but then she would remember that most men would fuck a hole in the mud, and she would soon lose interest again. Men are not the prize. 

Within royal circles, nineteen was quite old for a young princess to be single. But here she was. Genevieve was not interested in her suitors at all, no matter how handsome or rich. Her real passion was helping the people of her kingdom. Genevieve was also gifted with magical abilities and was sent to train with Madame Tissaia in hopes of helping her kingdom out of their worst economic depression. Aretuza was a semi fond memory from only a few years ago— Madame Tissaia took a liking to Genevieve which was often rare. The mage never had favorites until a young Genevieve begged to teach her all that she knew. The training was difficult, even more so was the process of ascension. To her dismay, she entered and left looking the exact same. She had gone through brutal months of training and thought she would at least get a makeover from it at the end of the day. “Your beauty is a gift from the gods,” her mentor told her. “Do not be disgruntled. You have everything you could possibly need.” How could she get married when her long life as a sorceress had only begun? 

And so here Genevieve sat with her longtime best friend. The tavern was her favorite place to escape after a long day of sorcery and aiding her peoples. It was anything but royal, but sometimes Genevieve liked to pretend she was a normal girl sometimes. Though it was quite difficult with the two knights standing guard the whole night. Plus, the owners were nice and spoiled her each time. She helped to rebuild their home after a recent flood and insisted on returning the favor with an elaborate spread of her favorite foods to celebrate Pavetta’s engagement. 

“I’m so glad I could get away from my mother,” Genevieve rolled her eyes whilst taking another sip of wine. “After she heard news of your betrothal to Prince Aston she has been trying to set me up with so many of her ‘approved’ suitors! Can you believe it? My older brothers are three years older than me and are allowed to spend their days drinking ale and practice their duels without any pressure of being married! Ridiculous,” the princess shook her head. “I could never get married. That would mean actually meeting a man I can tolerate for more than an hour.” 

“I love your mother,” Pavetta giggled and nodded at her friend’s rant. “But she is probably one of the most ruthless women I’ve ever met.” 

“Oh no,” Genevieve wagged her finger. “Madame Tissaia! That woman is the definition of heartless. I love her to death but my gods can she be cruel.” 

“She used to call me Piglet,” Yennefer’s voice interjected the two princesses’ conversation. Both their heads snapped towards the trio, confused as to where the comment had originated. 

Despite the alcohol and the humidity, Genevieve’s eyes widened. The one person she never thought she would ever see again sat only a few paces in front of her. She could make out his finely chiseled face and white, almost grey hair, through the thick smoke from the pipes of other men in the tavern. She knew he could see her too, the Wolf’s golden eyes staring into her. He must have been watching her keenly for several moments before she even noticed. And there was Jaskier, always happy to be here. Her gaze then shifted to the women who interrupted her conversation. She had purple eyes, medium length curly black hair, and immaculate bone structure. Surely from her ascensions as a mage. Though she had never seen this woman in her life, she had heard a few whispers and gossips here and there. Her mouth opened, stammering almost before regaining her regal composure. A tiny mischievous grin came on to her lips as she recalled a small detail from one of her past exchanges with Tissaia. 

“She used to call me… extremely blasphemous and a disgrace,” the princess chuckled into her wine glass, her eyes now averting away from the group of three. “So you were the hunchback?” The question was pointed, malicious. Yennefe’s breathing hitched as old memories she thought were finally repressed arose once more. Her gaze fell to the floor. 

“Genevieve!” Pavetta scowled at her friend’s rudeness and kicked her underneath the table. “Forgive my friend,” Pavetta apologized to Yennefer. “She has always had… mean girl tendencies,” Pavetta continued to glare at Genevieve’s ill manners. But Genevieve could care less about the new bruise on her shin now. She stared right back at the Witcher, disappointment and sadness washing over her face. “Is my coach ready? I’m prepared to leave.” Genevieve stood up with a huff, her cloak swished across the tavern smog and briefly revealed how her dress complemented her figure. A deep rumble started in Geralt’s core. The royal duo tipped the tavern owners handsomely before stepping into their horse-drawn carriage, escorted by the two knights. Pavetta was irritated with her friend for leaving their fun venue so soon. 

“I know another place,” Genevieve assured her. “The night isn’t over yet.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decided to extend this series into an actual story :)

It seemed like nobody on the Continent woke up without a hangover that morning. Geralt and Jaskier grumbled through dull headaches from their night of drinking and food as they prepared for the dragon hunt. How could they have not taken Borch up on his offer? He fetched them bottomless mugs of ale and made sure they were fed in hopes of gaining the Witcher on his team. 

Geralt initially refused, unwilling to engage in a silly fairytale-like trope. He didn't kill dragons, he told Borch. And yet, when he noticed the long silky hair and gleaming golden skin of the princess, he immediately agreed. Geralt, like every other male enjoying their time at the tavern, he couldn’t help but notice the sweep of her long, dramatic emerald green cloak against the soot from the floor. If she was bothered by this, she didn’t seem to show it. He thought she looked ethereal, with her laced bodice and tussled hair. She walked in with a woman who looked to be the same age. They chatted amongst each other, completely unaware of the other patrons in the tavern except for the brief greeting with the owners. The princess seemed to be quite fond of them. Genevieve hadn't uttered a word to him last night. Only a long stare filled with cold resentment once Yennefer had injected herself into their conversation. She left at once without giving him the chance to explain himself. 

Yennefer was struck by the pointed comment but eventually refrained from speaking to Geralt about it. “Who was the woman?” Yennefer wondered. “And why did she immediately leave after locking eyes with Geralt?” Her thoughts halted. She shook her head, not understanding why this was even on her mind in the first place. Conversation with Sir Eyck sparked once more as the mage’s thoughts about the mysterious woman fled her mind. 

Jaskier’s eyes darted back and forth, waiting for the Witcher’s next move. It had been almost a year since the bard laid eyes on the princess who took a liking to him. He knew of the undeniable chemistry and relations between the White Wolf and Tigress of Brugge. Jaskier watched attentively as Geralt slammed his ale down onto the table and attempted to run after the royal carriage. He stepped out into the crisp night, mentally uncertain of what he was going to say to her but absolutely certain that he absolutely needed to speak to her. They were long gone. 

— 

The teams readied their camps after a tiring day of hiking up the mountain. It was almost sundown, only a sliver of blood orange surrendering to the darkness of the night. Rumor spread about an additional team joining the hunt late, causing the   
Reavers and dwarves to challenge the legitimacy of this team. Yet another group they all had to compete against. They were furious. Angry yelling and threats started to get onto the rest of the teams’ nerves. Voices slowly died down as the sound of rumbling hooves approached the camp. 

A small armada of five stunning white mares emerged on the horizon. Four typical knights sporting the typical royal armor that every other kingdom on the Continent seemed to have. Average, forgettable. But not the young woman at the helm of their tiny squadron. 

Her dark brunette hair billowed in the wind, the distinct emerald cloak signaling to the rest of the competition that the Princess of Brugge was here. She grasped the reigns of her horse firmly and kept her posture immaculately straight, unaware of the sharp sting of the evening’s cold winds. A woman on a mission. Weapons and supplies graced the horses burdens. Two swords strapped to the back of her cloak despite her lack of armor. An intricate corset was artfully tied to her torso where a chest plate would have been. As the fifth team approached the camp, he could make out the blooming rosiness of her cheeks and tip of her nose from the cool breeze. Geralt couldn’t help but notice the gentle bounce of a wolf medallion between her breasts; the same one he gifted her almost a year ago. 

She dismounted from the horse and approached. Her expression was warm, completely unlike the night before. Genevieve ran to him, and to his surprise, he ran to her. Once they were face to face with each other the scowl emerged onto her face once more. 

“I-“ 

Smack

Geralt’s mouth opened to speak but he was immediately cut off by a cold, hard, back handed slap to the face from the princess. Her eyes narrowed and he was taken aback for a microsecond. She scoffed. The warm countenance returned once she saw Jaskier and embraced him in a hug. 

“My goodness Jaskier!” Genevieve exclaimed with excitement. “Oh bard, I have missed you.”

“Y-your high-ness,” Jaskier stammered. He was shocked at the princess’ reaction. “What are you doing here? And what were you doing last night at that tavern? Also why are you joining so late-“ 

“We have much to discuss, my friend,” Genevieve assured him with a brief flick of her wrist to pitch her team’s tents for the night. “Cassius,” the princess addressed the lead knight who her father appointed to escort her on this mission. “Please make sure my tent is up to par. Make sure the other three rest well this evening. They will need it.” 

“Yes, my Lady,” the head knight bowed before her and began with his tasks along with the other three, wordless knights. 

“Come Jaskier,” she beckoned the bard. “Would you like some tea? Oh we caught the loveliest fowl for dinner tonight, do join us,” her voice drifted as the bard willfully followed her into the over-the-top royal tent. Wafts of roasted meat and freshly brewed herb teas immediately wafted from her tent causing their travel companions to wag their tongues, disapproving of the princess’ unnecessarily extravagant arrangements. 

Geralt grunted, deciding to return to sharpening his knives and swords. His jaw clenched at the way she dismissed him. No, he thought. She went out of her way to demonstrate her hatred towards him. Despite the ruckus and chaos from the rest of the group, his ears perked up at the muffled conversation he managed to pick up from Genevieve’s tent. He tried to make out the exact words, but the royal mage cast a small enchantment for soundproofing. Fuck, Geralt thought. 

“Geralt,” Yennefer called to him. “How do you know her?” She asked quizzically. 

The Witcher ignored her question, as per usual. His head ran with ideas on how he would be able to finally speak to her. It drove him mad, the way she had this affect on her. He would have much rather preferred to maintain the lone wolf mentality, indiscriminate from enthrallments towards women. He would rather be free from the shackles of her. She intoxicated him. Geralt cursed himself. This is what he asked for. And to his dismay (or perhaps delight, he wondered), the djinn granted it.


	3. Chapter 3

Though a tiny tent on the outside, I had made the inside of the tent to seem spacious and welcoming. A large king-sized bed with lush duvets, upholstered sofas, wooden wardrobe to keep my garments wrinkle-free, and even a fireplace to keep me and the Bard warm throughout their supper. 

“Oh, your majesty, you are too generous. You spoil me,” Jaskier complimented me with a mouth full of roasted meat and potatoes, sauce smeared throughout his face, digging through the mountain of food on his plate. 

“Please don’t mention it,” I filled his chalice once more with a pitcher of water. “I’m glad you’re enjoying your meal.” 

“The best one I’ve had in weeks,” he responded. “Free lancing doesn’t exactly allow me to feast every night, if you know what I mean.” 

I laughed. “So that’s what you would call Geralt, a free lancer?”

He paused for a moment to think. “YES! Exactly that. I’ve been told to have a starving artist complex, though my time with her was quite fleeting as her husband came home too early and I-“

“Jaskier!” I gasped. “You slept with a married woman?” Disbelief washed over me, I couldn’t help but giggle over his comment.

“Well, women…” he grinned, a slight flush of pink warming his cheeks.

“My, my, I didn’t know you were such a playboy! I would have never known. Apparently that’s something I would have characterized your companion as,” I said between sips of water. 

The bard laughed deeply. “You know Geralt hasn’t actually been with anyone, since you know, that one night he spent with you a few months ago at your parents ball.” 

“Did he tell you to say that?” I asked dryly. 

“No. Though I don’t blame you for not believing me, if I saw my old lover’s old lover-“

“I have no concern over her Jaskier.” 

“Is that why you called her a piglet?” He asked with amusement, his grin widening. The banter between us always seemed to have a way of exposing more honesty and truth than those melodramatic conversations. 

“I didn’t call her a piglet! I was simply saying that Madame Tissaia had, that’s all.” 

“Right,” he huffed, unsatisfied with my defense answer. He took another bite of the potatoes. “I have to ask, Gen, and please don’t take offense because you know I like you, miraculously because you’re a bit rough around the edges, though I suppose that’s why I’ve been traveling with Geralt this whole time-“

“Get to the point, Jaskier,” I feigned annoyance, both amused by his endless rambles but also uncertain of what he was about to ask me.

“Okay, sorry. Well I was wondering… why are you here? I mean the last time I saw you you were cursing Geralt to hell, then you barely acknowledged his existence ten months later, then you join this bizarre dragon hunt the next day, I mean-“ 

“I’d like to know the same,” a voice came from the entrance, the opposite side of the tent. It was gruff, low, intoxicating, somewhere it didn’t belong. Geralt. 

“What is with people cutting me off tonight?!” Jaskier whined with exasperation. I had barely noticed Jaskier’s frustration. My focus was on the Witcher. 

“How did you get in here?” I blurted. “I gave my men strict instructions to not allow anyone to enter. I swear to Gods, Witcher, let me find out you hurt them. My father will have your head on a stick.” 

“Then I wonder who your father will beckon to slay monsters that terrorize your people and eat your crops,” he sharply retorted. “You may wear that wolf medallion around your throat. But you are no match for such beasts.”

I approached him. Calm, cool, poised. My head tilted upwards, unafraid of whatever Geralt’s agenda was. Acting as though his words did not sting, even though they did. Geralt knew that I was a formidable opponent in battle, a rarity for many princesses. He didn’t mean this. And yet they seemed to cut at my skin like tiny, irritating paper cuts. I stood dangerously close to him, almost under his chin. I seemed to forget that the bard was watching us closely from the table with wide eyes, stuffing his mouth slowly as if watching a play. 

“I will ask again” I said slowly. “How. Did. You. Get. In. Here.” 

He smirked. “Your guard took a piss break.” I swore under my breath. “And I could ask you the same question.” 

“I’m insulted you think I would go through all this trouble just to see you, Geralt of Rivia.” His eyebrows raised. “My father assigned me on this trip,” I said flatly. “For the Kingdom of Brugge.”

“His Majesty,” his voice lowered, if that was even possible. “I’m surprised he hasn’t banned me from the kingdom.” 

At this point, both of our attentions turned to Jaskier furiously scribbling onto a piece of paper. He finally looked up once he realized we had both caught on. 

“I’m sorry,” he confessed. “It’s just that this would all make such an amazing ballad, the sexual tension, I mean, is it hot in here because you obviously both want each other like mad or is it the fireplace.” 

“Leave, Jaskier!” Geralt hissed, glaring at the bard. 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. I mean ex-lovebirds. Really, really angsty ex-lovebirds,” his voice drifted as he collected his things and scrambled away. 

Geralt’s gaze softened as it returned to my face only inches below him. “Been a while, Gen.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Quite an eloquent poet you are, Witcher.” I swiftly turned away from him. Jaskier was right, it was getting hot in here. I peeled off my cashmere shawl that had previously peeked under my fur-trimmed wool coat, leaving me in a plain black floor length dress. It was fitted throughout my arms and torso, only fanning out into the skirt right at my hips. The cut of the dress itself along with the sweetheart neckline complemented my feminine figure. Geralt without a doubt couldn’t help but notice my silhouette. “I answered your question,” I told him as I carefully removed my earrings and placed them on my bedside table. My fingers expertly detached the delicate silver nonchalantly, as if this was just a normal conversation between me and my handmaidens. “Now you answer mine.”

Geralt grunted. “Borch approached me on a hunt-“

“I didn’t mean that. Why are you here, in my tent.” It sounded more like a demand than a question. 

“I came to talk,” he sighed.

“About what” I snorted, my fingers now weaving a plait through my hair as I readied myself for bed. 

“Us,” he responded huskily, slowly walking towards me this time. 

“There is no us. You made that quite clear.”

“I believe it was a mutual agreement.” 

“You bed me, promised you would see me again, and never did. So forgive me for having a slight aversion to you at this moment,” I huffed angrily. 

“You didn’t want to leave Brugge,” he pointed out. “And you hit me across the face earlier today. I think slight is an understatement.” 

“I was younger then. I didn’t know what I wanted.” I ignored his latter comment. 

“And now is any different? I mean it’s only been ten months, you haven’t even reached your nineteenth birthday.” 

We were now facing each other again. I could smell him. Musk, woody, even a hint of spice. “I didn’t think I’d see you again Geralt. This whole thing,” I sighed, interrupting myself. “When I saw you at the tavern, I immediately wanted to just get away. Get away from Brugge, my family, everything. I begged my father. So he recommended this little excursion he had heard through his vine of kingship. I decided to set out for this dragon, or whatever, I wanted to leave as soon as I could. So here I am. 

“In the flesh,” he responded. Geralt’s eyes burned into mine, wanting to say more than just the three words that left his lips. 

I turned around swiftly. “Help me,” my voice almost a whisper. 

His agile hands grasped the top button at the back of my dress, tugging and doing the lower ones expertly until the thin material dropped to my feet. A short white silk night slip was the only barrier between me and the Witcher’s presence. 

Geralt’s lips pressed gently to my bare shoulder, making me shiver. “I’m sorry, Genevieve. I wanted to come back for you.” 

“Though your feet have yet to guide you to me,” I muttered.   
“I’m here aren’t I?” He whispered, almost growled, into my ear. 

“Do you believe in destiny, Geralt,” again, not sounding like a question. 

“I don’t need destiny.” His lips pressed against my neck this time, dangerously so. As if I was merely a puppet guiding my own body, detached from my soul and watching myself without any control of my body, I grabbed his hands from behind me and placed them on my waist. 

“Did you mean what you said. About my abilities to kill beasts.” 

“No,” he answered immediately, continuing to kiss my neck. 

“Am I foolish for even being near you right now,” I sighed in frustration. 

“No.” His answer was gruff, definite. 

“Do you consider me a fool, Geralt of Rivia.” 

He turned me around, spinning me at the waist. His eyes locked into mine, jaw clenched. He was serious. “No.” He leaned in to kiss me. Still in my puppet state, my lips met his and I gently placed my hands on his solid chest. “I am a fool.” 

His arms now gripped at my body, fingertips traveling to places he hadn’t brushed against in ages. Kissing Geralt made my heart beat faster and make my whole body feel flushed. Surely he could hear. My lips left our deep kiss and found the crux of his neck, hungrily pecking kisses at his skin. He growled in response, his hands now cupping my bottom. I giggled at his reaction and my hand slowly traveled to the bulge in his pants.

“Genevieve,” he warned, his eyes almost dark with lust. 

“Geralt,” I sighed seductively into his ear and palmed him over his trousers. He was hard, stiff, his body begging for me. He groaned, lips now separated in pleasure and want. In the blink of an eye, he lifted me and my legs wrapped around his torso allowing him to pin me against the wall. 

The foreplay was ferocious, lust-driven, and hungry. Right as Geralt’s fingers were about to dip between under my slip and between my legs, I stopped him.   
“I need to tell you something,” I breathed, our eyes locking again in seriousness. 

“Yes love?”

“Get out,” I murmured. 

“What?” Geralt pulled away and immediately halted his fondling. 

“You heard me,” I planted my feet onto the ground once more, straightening my dress, almost dying at the loss of touch. “Leave, now please.” 

“Genevieve-“ his eyebrows furrowed in surprise. 

“Go.” His mouth parted to protest. “Sorry for giving you blue balls, Geralt. I have to get my beauty sleep. I hope you understand,” a huge smirk plastered on my face. 

The Witcher was in disbelief. Not many women were able to resist him, much less cut him off like I had. He had been bested by a princess almost seventy years his senior. My hand was on his arm, guiding him out of my tent. “See to it that Geralt arrives at his own accommodations,” I called to Cassius. “Good night, Witcher.” 

Still speechless, Geralt sauntered off into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

The white cotton sheets should have been heaven. They should have lulled me to sleep like a baby. Instead, it seemed like I was trapped in an endless tornado of white blankets. The sun had began to emerge from the horizon and I hadn’t been able to sleep even a wink that night. Slowly, I raised myself from the canopied bed. With a flick of my wrist, the kettle on the dining table contained boiling hot water without the need for a stove. I fitted myself in a dark burgundy dress and my favorite fur trimmed coat as I waited for my tea to brew. 

Stepping out into the brisk morning air felt nice. It was better than the stuffy castle I usually found myself in each morning. This was a much needed change of scenery. Belly full of tea, I strapped my bow and arrow and sword to my back. I needed a good hunt after the long night of restless sleep. Thoughts of Geralt began to swarm my mind as I tracked my prey through the woods, leaving my tent and knights behind. I didn’t know the next time I would be able to do this on my own. In fact, I’m not sure if I would ever even be alone after this. I’m not sure when I’ll see Geralt again, if our paths ever cross after this. Perhaps I was too harsh on him, maybe he’s been punished enough. 

‘No,’ I thought, battling myself. He’s an absolute arse for treating me like some cheap hook up. 

‘But everyone else on this Continent is cruel to him. Whatever he deserves, he will surely get.’

‘He didn’t even say sorry!’ 

I exhaled, my fingers unable to release themselves from my bow to shoot the arrow at the wild boar in front of me. I felt pathetic for consuming myself in thoughts of Geralt of Rivia. This hunt was supposed to clear my mind, not confuse it even more. I lowered my bow, sighing in annoyance with myself. 

At that second an arrow whizzed dangerously past my ear and tore through the boar’s brains. Perhaps the camp will be eating bacon for breakfast after all. I turned around, half expecting a surprise and half knowing who it was before even having to blink. 

“Stop following me,” I huffed at the White Wolf. I turned on my heels in the opposite direction seething, unsure of where but sure that I wanted to get away from the man who caused me this chaos. 

“It seems that you are the one following me, princess,” he chuckled, his large hand now firmly gripping my wrist. I forgot about his superhuman speed and agility. And why did the innermost parts of me squeal with delight that he had ran after me. “You’re quite the trickster, with the little games you play.” 

“I’m an honest woman Geralt of Rivia. I play no games.” I released myself from his grip and dramatically kept walking. He obviously didn’t take too kindly to this as he spun me around and pinned me against a nearby tree. His face dangerously close to mine as it was last night, and there was nowhere for me to go this time. His arms caged me against his muscular frame, amber eyes studying my face. We could hear each other’s heartbeats, so aware of the magnetic intimacy between us. 

“You didn’t seem like much of an honest woman when you were on all fours-“ My hand made contact with his face once more, delivering a hard smack against his cheeks. This barely phased him. “2 for 2,” he chuckled darkly. “I’m tired of this cat and mouse game, Gen.” 

“Then what is it that you want, Witcher?” My voice was tired now, the sleepless night finally catching up to me as the adrenaline began to wear off. “Tell me, so we can finally be rid of each other.” 

Geralt’s tough exterior softened at my words. His arms dropped, allowing me to stand freely. “I’m sorry,” his jaw clenched, eyes flitting towards the ground. I couldn’t help but notice how his black armor complemented his tall frame towering over me. I felt almost lost peering at his stiff, yet beautifully defined face and white hair. “I shouldn’t have treated you like that. I regret it. So much so that I came back for you, Genevieve.” 

“You came back for me?” My eyes furrowed in confusion. 

“The following evening, after you thought I left you, I tried to scale up the castle to your room. A guard caught me and brought me to your mother. She banished me, Gen,” Geralt’s thumb now grazed my jaw, signal of affection. “I tried to see you again but all my efforts were squandered by your mother.” 

“She never told me of this,” I shook my head, not knowing who to believe. 

Geralt chuckled darkly again. “And why would she? You’re to marry a king. Someone great, someone grand. Not the likes of me.” 

“Who said anything about marrying you?” I asked. It was playful, not pointed or hostile like I had grown used to. My tone of voice seemed to take the both of us by surprised. “All this time I believed you just tossed me aside like a used pair of gloves,” I confessed to him. 

“You’re anything but,” he assured me. My hands raised to cup his face, thoughts of giving into the Witcher swarmed my mind. 

“Why didn’t you tell me all this last night?”

“You and your mother have quite the habit of kicking me out without giving me a chance to speak.” My hands dropped from his face, now grounded in reality all of a sudden. 

“They’re probably wondering where we are,” I noted the sun’s higher position in the sky. “Help me drag this boar back to camp.” 

“You’re welcome, by the way.” 

——

There we were, back on the road again in search of this dragon. The dwarves were at the head, guiding us through the mountainous terrain. Sir Eyck’s throat had been slit in the middle of the night. It was frightening for sure, as no one knew who had done it and considering my hunt under the darkness of the morning, it could have very well been me. 

“My apologies,” I muttered in Elven as Yennefer and I matched strides. She trekked next to me, her purple eyes barely looking my way. 

“For the rude comment at the tavern or my companion’s death?” It was her turn to be pointed. Geralt and Jaskier were behind us, their eyes flitted upwards as they noticed the two of us were conversing in a way they could not understand. 

“Both.” My eyesight maintained its forward gaze as well. We walked for several minutes, neither acknowledging each other or making eye contact. 

“Are you hostile because of what happened between Geralt and I? Our relations occurred before your parents even thought of having you.” I could feel Geralt’s eyes boring into my back at the sound of his name, glaring. Curious at what his two past hookups were discussing. Jaskier would no doubt put this into a song by nightfall. 

“This is the part where it gets bad,” I heard Jaskier whisper to Geralt. 

“You take me for a simple woman, Yennefer of Vengerberg.” 

“I can assure you that no one thinks the great Genevieve of Brugge is a simple woman.” The purple eyed mage scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Spoiled, stuck up, maybe even condescending. But not simple.” 

“I think we can both agree all those things are better than being plain and forgettable.” 

“So Geralt has a type,” she observed. Her lips pressed firmly together. “Dark haired mages with superiority complexes and who people tell stories of.”  
“You let her die.” I slipped out of Elven and stopped in my tracks, glaring at Yennefer. 

“Who are you even talking about?” She glared back. 

“Queen Kalis of Lyria, my aunt. That is quite the story I’ll never forget. And to be honest, that is the root of all my disdain with you, Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

“It’s quite obvious those stories didn’t include the fact that she offered her daughter as a sacrifice only moments before her death.” 

Before I could retaliate, Geralt stood between us. “Enough,” he seethed towards me specifically. “Come here,” he grabbed my wrist and pulled me away from the rest of the group towards a pocket of clearing on the cliff. “We need to speak.”

“For a Witcher you sure love to have these talks,” I murmured dryly.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spent the whole night reading a heartbreaking geralt fic. beautifully written...but fuck that.

Geralt pulled me aside briskly, though his fingertips grasped my wrist ever so lightly. It amazed me how he could be so rough, yet so gentle. 

"We can make it back to the tavern by nightfall, we just have to take the path south-"

"What? Are you mad, Witcher?" My eyebrows furrowed, unsure of where he was trying to get at. Geralt's fists and jaws clenched, his amber eyes finally meeting mine. A single strand of white hair dangled in his face thanks to the slight breeze. I resisted the urge to push it away. "I came here on a mission!" 

"Right," he seemed bored, slightly shaking his head. "Was your mission to stir this... this," Geralt's hand gestures flailed through the air. "This drama? Like a little school girl?"

My lips pressed together firmly, a soft sigh escaping through my nose. "So you are with Yennefer, then? No?" 

"No!" He exclaimed, now exasperated by the back and forth antics between us. "No, I'm not with Yennefer. But that doesn't change the fact that I ought to march you down to the gates of Brugge myself if it means peace and quiet from your games!" I took a step backwards, now irritated by his belligerent behavior. 

"No," my eyes darkened, voice lowering almost two octaves. "I can't go back there, not yet-" I was about to continue explaining myself when Yennefer interjected again, as she has quite the habit of doing so. 

"I have no objections to that," she said matter-of-factly. 

I turned away from the two of them to face the cliff, sighing loudly. "I can't seem to escape this awful cycle of people telling me what to do," I whispered to myself, staring at the vast terrain dangerously below me. 

"What?" Geralt asked. He was the only one besides me who could hear. I shook the thought from my head. 

"Why are you even here, Yennefer? Sir Eyck died. Isn't this your cue to leave?" I was irritated with them both, now abandoning all promises to myself and to Pavetta that I would behave cordially. 

"You wouldn't understand," she almost spit at me. Her face twisted into a stone cold glare. "The ability to create life- real life- was never taken from you. Because you were born perfect. Madame Tissaia's best student," she said mockingly. "Didn't have to ascend. Didn't have to give up your womb. You will never understand searching a lifetime for something. The princess gets anything she wants from daddy with a snap of her fingers." I scoffed at her meta analysis of my character. 

"What could you possibly want from a child, Yennefer," Geralt hadn't been too sold on her desires either. 

"I simply want the choice, as it was robbed from me. And I have a right to take it back.” She paused for a second to look at me again. “You wouldn’t know the feeling.” 

I grit my teeth. Her cruel words may have been true in some regard, but my life was far from perfect. “You think I don’t know what it feels like to be robbed of choice? My personal freedom?” I stalked closer to her, my words dripping with venom. “When people look at me, they see me as a vessel to be wed off to produce an heir to a kingdom. Or as a pawn in a useless political game of chess. Nobody ever sees me for me. Yennefer of Vengerberg, you may roam the continent for your whole life trying to heal your empty womb, but at least you are not defined by it.” Tears threatened to spill from my eyes and I could barely muster anything to look Geralt in the eyes. “If I could cut my uterus out of my own body and implant it into yours," I said through my clenched jaw, "I wouldn't even think twice.” 

Yennefer’s face stayed rigid, unemotional. But for only a second I saw something in her eyes besides disdain— pity. She turned on her heels without a word and joined the rest of the groups up the mountain. Her intentions had not been assuaged. 

Geralt turned to face me. There was no sign of pity in his visage, but there was something else. I couldn’t seem to put my finger on it. Out of nowhere, he crooked a slight, knowing smile. “So this is why you spend hours in dirty taverns and seek out dragon hunts with a rag-tag group of-“ he paused before ending his sentence, “people.” 

“Sometimes I just want to be normal,” I whispered, my gaze looking down at my feet. I watch his shuffle closer to mind, our chests almost close enough to touch. I felt a strong, calloused hand cup the side of my jaw with just enough force to beckon my face upwards. "Don't you ever feel like you just want to escape your old life and be somebody else?"

He evaded my question. “You’re anything but, princess. Isn’t normal-?”

“Overrated,” I finished his sentence for him. Yes,” I admitted. “But this life…” I didn’t know what else to say. Geralt’s expression showed his understanding. Life can be cruel. It was rather strange how this Witcher so often rendered me speechless, meanwhile I elicited his odd desire to have these off-the-record conversations in private. I swallowed. “In all my years and training at Aretuzza, I had yet to stumble upon a Witcher. And now the first one I meet lays with me, finds me at a tavern, and then on this extremely rare dragon hunt. All of this happening within a year. Why?” I asked quizzically. 

Geralt’s eyes bore into mine, as they have the habit of doing. “I wish I could tell you.” His expression was stiff again, the small smile from earlier now absent. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I did.” 

“I find that untrue. Riddle me this then, why did you come back for me? Why did you just not abandon me and move on with your life, as destiny wills?”

“Destiny,” he grunted in a mocking tone. “I told you I’d come back,” he said plainly. 

“That night we made love, I told you that my mother would have your head on a stick if she knew of our relations.” 

“And yet my head is intact.” 

“You said you attempted to see me multiple times. How often? And when?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” He was hesitant. He held himself back. If only I could decipher what that glint in his eyes meant. 

“And satisfaction brought it back,” my eyes narrowed at him. “Tell me.” 

His rough hand grasped my soft ones and laid it on the left side of his chest onto his black armor, over the top of his heart. His heart beat was slow but inched its rhythm to a faster pace. I could feel it over the heavy chest plate unlike most regular humans. I studied his face intently, looking for clues. He looked at me, gods that look, like all he wanted to tell me was in the air between us. 

“The Great White Wolf falls for a woman after all,” I spoke softly. “A royal sorceress, no less.” 

"The first time, I tried to scale the side of your castle. Your guards brought me to your mother, the king was out on business," 

"Like he usually is," I interrupted with a grumble. 

He paid it no mind. "She banished me from Brugge and told me that if I were to ever come back, she'd release her whole army on me." 

"And? What did you do?" 

"I came back again, this time in the early morning. I waited by the garden for you to tend to the tomatoes." I blushed, not wanting to interrupt him again. He remembered how fondly I took to gardening. 

"Was it really an army?"

"No," he shook his head. "Perhaps a small cavalry, about forty men or so. Nothing I can't handle", he smirked.

"Then?" I asked. "You're really quite the storyteller," I told him sarcastically. 

"You're really quite the interruptor." I kept my mouth zipped. "The third time, I was on the outskirts between Cintra and Brugge. There was a patrol of men surrounding the whole kingdom. As close to a small army as you can get. I figured they were preparing to be shipped off to Skellige for training but had to remain there for an undisclosed reason." 

"Please don't tell me you killed them all," I sighed. 

"Only about half," he admitted.

"You really would have taken on a whole army just to see me again," I said moreso to myself than to him. "Tell me what my mother did after that one. I'll say she has been more harsh with me these past few months, but I thought it was due to her haste about marrying me off. Ridiculous how this has all been kept a secret from me."

"I tried everything, Gen," Geralt pulled me into a soft embrace, inhaling the scent of my hair as my face laid against the scarred flesh uncovered by armor. 

"Perhaps I should have made a greater effort to see you as well, Geralt of Rivia." I sighed, my eyes closing. I wish I could stay like this forever. "I just don't know why she didn't tell me." 

"Your mother is a nymph. They're oddly obsessed with social status. She obviously didn't take kindly to the thought of her daughter becoming enthralled with a Witcher. I can't find it in myself to blame her." 

"You're telling me," I snorted. "Don't say such things," I whispered into his skin. "I like you Geralt." 

"I've said more to you in twenty minutes than I had in twenty years." I could feel that his eyes were shut as well. I hoped in my heart he was trying to savor the moment just as I was. 

"You said the same thing that evening," I said with a smile. Thoughts of my first night with Geralt flooded through my head. 

"Yes," he agreed. "I like you too, princess." Once more I felt the quickening thud of his heart between our bodies, as I was sure he could hear mine outracing his. 

"Obviously. The kingdom of Brugge is down half an army because of you," I retorted. He only smiled in responses.


End file.
